


Panama

by Itrustyoutokillme



Category: Prison Break
Genre: F/M, angsty, hurt and pain, post-escape, sexy stuffs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 21:22:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11090175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itrustyoutokillme/pseuds/Itrustyoutokillme
Summary: Michael does everything he can to escape Sona to find his way back to Sara.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Forever thankful to the lovely Jess for allowing me to finally post these fics for everyone! Previously these were just something we did together for fun, but i really want to share them with everyone, so here is another! I am sure we probably took it turns to write Lincoln, but it might have just been me lol

The thing about breaking out of Fox River was the fact you were chased as soon as your feet touched the dry, dusty ground outside the prison walls. Breaking out of Sona was like trying to smash the door to a washing machine open, whilst you were being tumbled around inside with a thousand rocks, each one smashing into your body over and over until eventually you couldn’t feel anything else but numbness. Michael felt numb. He felt numb because of what he had lost and he felt numb because of the void left in his heart the second he had shouted, ‘It was me!’, dropped to his knees on the baking Panamanian soil, and said goodbye to Sara forever.

Like the day he had been sentenced, without a trial and without a jury of peers, Michael found himself hunched over in the rain outside of the Sona correctional Facility. Inside was incomprehensible torture and Michael had experienced most of it at the hands of other inmates for the simple things, like his clothes. His soaked hoodie had been wrenched from his shoulders with such a force that the hollow pop of dislocation had echoed in his ears and he had ground his teeth together so hard he thought he had felt the enamel of his teeth crumble. The rain still pelted down on his bare back, inching in between the tears of his white shirt and running down his indigo skin. With a grunt, Michael stumbled to his feet, his feet stinging from the fall over the wall onto hard ground that slipped from under his boots.

And he ran. Michael ran like he had never run before. With one arm clutching at his dislocated shoulder, holding it steady while the bones ground against each other under the skin so painfully he thought he might pass out. There were no sirens to alert the guards to an escapee. Michael probably figured most escapees were shot anyway so there was no reason to alert the world to the demise of another worthless life. For a second he had to stop, the burning in his lungs becoming too much for his body to run for any longer. Propping himself up against the sandy coloured wall of a building in the darkness, looking out across the street, he saw her in the light of her make shift home.

Sara had shacked up in a hotel for the first few days, but the bright Panamanian room had quickly become too cheerful for her. After she had spent an entire day throwing up, Lincoln had told her they needed to find some kind of new arrangement. Neither one of them even thought about going back to Chicago, or going back anywhere other than the city Michael was being kept in. The hardly ever spoke, just shared in the silence of not knowing whether or not the person they both loved more than anything in the world was okay, or even alive. So Lincoln had found an elderly woman who had offered to rent them the tiny beachside shack for practically nothing. There was a kitchen, a bathroom, a bed and a couch. It wasn't big, it was barely clean, but it would do.

Lincoln had left the night before, travelling a hundred miles north to meet with a 'lawyer' to try to figure out what to do about Michael. Collapsing down onto the couch, her 'dinner' on her lap, Sara realized she hadn't spoken a word out loud since he left. She hadn't cried either.

Michael felt like crying and the rain beat down on his face so hard he didn’t know if he was or not. He gave himself a second to compose himself, wincing when his shoulder rolled against the wall behind him because he had moved for a better view. Judging by the lack of warmth radiating through the conductive surface of the building he was leaning against, Michael figured that the tiny ocean dwelling shack Sara was in was deserted. There wasn’t so much as a street lamp for miles and he didn’t even know how he had found his way this far.

There was a tiny piece at the back of Michael mind that told him, if he could get to the ocean, he could probably find a boat and at the very least, get away from Panama. Once thought of as his safe haven, he now hated it. And everything about it. He hated the fruit, the white, sandy beaches that even sparkled at night under the moonlight, and he hated himself for bringing it all into his life. And the life of Sara. Before he realised what he was doing, Michael’s feet had began a slow, heavy dragging motion towards the house, keeping into the shadows most of the way and using the loud, midnight crashing of the ocean to disguise the sounds of his pain.

His feet fell heavy on the porch as he stepped up onto the creaking wood and fell forward against the wooden surface of the door. Even in his delirious state of pain, Michael still knocked, but it was sleepy and clumsy. His flat palm beat weakly on the aged wood and he rolled his forehead against the surface. His face hurt, his legs hurt, his arms hurt, his everything hurt. He had been beaten and more of his body was split open, dislocated and bruised than he cared to mention. He leant his entire body against the door, still beating weakly against the wood as he felt the draping of unconsciousness overtake him when the door clicked open and he fell to the ground at Sara’s feet.

Sara let out a quiet 'oof' as Michael fell to her feet. Michael. How the hell had he gotten out. . . how had he found his way to her? She quickly slammed the wood door shut, keeping the rain out as she dropped down on the floor next to him. "Michael. . ." she choked on her own voice as she spoke his name, and pressed a hand to his bruised cheek. Pushing all the confusion away, she surveyed his injuries. His arm looked dislocated, he was badly beaten. She had to try to wake him up. "Michael? Can you hear me? Michael, it's Sara." Did he even know it was her?

Michael could hear Sara’s voice in the distances of his mind but his adrenaline had run out and he was just too exhausted and the pain was too excruciating to move. He had found her, against all odds and by a miraculous coincidence. Surely there would be nothing to keep them apart now he had done the impossible and found the woman he loved more than life itself. Michael began to cry in his sleep, rolling his face sideways and burying it into the fabric of Sara’s pants while he shivered on the floor. Water still dripped from his body and began to pool on the shack floor under his body.

"Michael. . ." Sara pressed her hand to his cheek. "Oh, Michael. . ." She surveyed him closely, knowing full well that she had to pop his shoulder back into place. She'd only done it a few times and certainly never to someone who didn't have any kind of pain meds. "I'm so sorry." She took hold of his wrist and lifted his arm, pushing it up and turning it. He let out a cry and his eyes fluttered open, and Sara had no idea how he was even bearing the pain. "Michael."

Michael couldn’t focus through his tears and he tried to shuffle backwards on the wood of the floor, wiggling his body sideways on one side while he clutched at his relocated shoulder. After a few feet he stopped, holding his breath with the pain and eventually letting it out on an almighty sob as he fell flat against the wood again and rolled half over. His eyes were pinched shut but the tears still fell. Michael felt like his shoulder was on fire and the muscles around the joint has been replaced with razorblades that were working further into his joint every time he moved. His feet kicked out weakly, sliding against the wet floor without traction and he slammed his head harder into the floor, trying to take the pain away. “Please…” he coughed out, the word extended by his crying. “…Make it stop,” he begged pathetically.

"It's all over now, it's over, Michael. . ." Sara crawled over to him, and cupped his face her in her hands, stilling him and forcing him to look at her. "Focus on me, Michael. Focus on my face. I'm not going to let anything else happen to you." She took a deep breath, moving her hands down to the belt buckle of his jeans. "You're freezing. I need to get you out of these clothes, okay?"

With a nod, Michael agreed. He was freezing. Panama rain was warm when it hit your skin, but then it cooled immediately because of the night time breeze and each delicate splash of water turned into a sharp, icy sting. Michael’s clothes were drenched and droplets still littered his face, bare arms and exposed chest. His feet were soaked in his boots like he had run through the ocean and his feet throbbed with a mixture of hot and cold. Michael let his eyes fall closed again and he looked away from Sara as she undressed him, pressing his face into the dusty wood of the floor and not hiding a line of spittle that fell from his mouth as he sobbed weakly.

Sara moved down to his feet, tugging off his shoes quickly, followed by his socks. Trying to keep her most professional attitude, she quickly slid his jeans over his hips and down his legs. Averting her eyes, she left his boxers on. She studied his torso for a minute. "Okay, Michael, I don't want to hurt your arm." Moving over to the small kitchen she yanked open a couple drawers until she located a pair of scissors. Moving behind him, she pushed him up slightly. "I need you to sit up for me, Michael. Lean on me, okay? I've got you." She moved her arms around to his front and slowly cut the thin shirt off, sliding it gently over his shoulders. Once it was off, she held his body to her chest for a moment, not caring this his wet skin was soaking through her shirt. She turned her head, pressing a quick kiss to his temple. "Oh, Michael. . ." Regaining herself, she moved to the bed, grabbing the blanket off top. "Michael, I need you to help me get you next to the fire. Can you do that?"

Michael nodded slowly, clenching his jaw and hissing through his teeth with ragged breath as Sara helped him to his feet. He let out a roar of pain and felt the tear prick back in his eyes. He threw his head backwards and his chest expanded quicker with each breath. Even though his torso was entirely tattooed, whole sections of his body were purple and green. A boot mark clearly defined itself on his ribcage when he lifted his good arm and hung it over Sara’s shoulder for support, almost crumpling back to the floor when his knees gave out.

He leaned nearly all of his weight on her, and Sara let out a quiet hiss as she used everything within her to support him. "I've got you. . ." She murmured, leading him the few steps to the fire. "I've got you, Michael. You're here with me. I've got you." She tried to ease him gently onto the wood floor, and wrapped the blanket around him, kneeling next to him. "I love you."

Michael’s body shivered against the coolness of the floor where he lay and he rolled his head sideways towards Sara. Reaching out a shaking hand that was swollen around the knuckles from fighting and scrapped across the fingertips from dragging his body up the side of the prison wall, Michael took Sara’s hand in his and tried to smile. He opened his mouth to talk and all that came out to begin with was a hitching sob. “I…I love you, Sara. I found you…I found you…” his voice drifted off as his eyes fluttered closed and the grip he held on her hand relaxed a little.

Sara sat by Michael in silence for awhile, trying to find places to touch him that were not too badly bruised. She couldn't even imagine what he had gone through inside that prison, if that's even what it had been. Taking a deep breath, she sat by him for another few minutes, checking to see how far into his restless sleep he would fall. When she was convinced he would not wake up, she moved to where Lincoln kept his clothes, tearing up a t-shirt and making a make-shift sling. She slipped it over his shoulder, wincing as he groaned in his sleep. Fluttering her eyes shut, she wondered if he would ever talk to her about what had happened.

Michael kept replaying it over and over in his mind. The second he knew it was all over. The second Sara had broken down and told him she had taken a man’s life was a defining point in his life. It signified the end of them as they knew it and their goodbye was quick, desperate and far too short for either of them to forget it so quickly. Sona, if anything, had taught Michael that sleep was just a myth, invented to get kids to sleep at night. Tell them they need at least eight hours and most will listen to their parents and head straight of.

Sona didn’t allow for much sleep, but when Michael did slip into the depths of dreaming, all he saw was Sara in the place of him, thrust into the unforgiving territory of the prison of forgotten souls and suffering at the hands of others like he had. “Sara…” he mumbled in his sleep, his brow furrowing and pulling together as his body shifted on the floor. “No…” he shook his head and swallowed hard, his breathing increasing a little as he slept. “No!” he yelled suddenly, sitting bolt upright and staring straight ahead of him in terror.

"Hey!" Sara called out and moved in front of him, worrying coursing through her. "Hey. . ." She pressed her hands to her face, kneeling in between his legs and waiting until he focused on her. "I'm right here. I'm okay. You're okay. . ." She leaned in, brushing her lips across his gently, before she could stop herself. "We are okay."

Michael’s body relaxed a little and he leant into her touch, resting his forehead against hers. His free arm came up and he cradled the back of her head with his massive hand, holding her to him while his eyes twitched with more tears. These were not tears of pain, and these were not tears of hopelessness. These were the tears of relief, springing from his body with a different kind of burning in his throat. It was softer, made it easier to breath and when he titled his head back and pressed his lips to hers, and Sara was really there to receive his kiss, they were tears of proof. “I found you,” he whispered his earlier words. “And I’ll never let you go.”

"I'll never let you go. . ." Sara murmured against his mouth, cradling the back of his skull gently in her hands. She felt the rush of tears finally spring to her eyes, and she didn't even try to stop them from coursing down her cheeks. "I can. . . I can make you something to eat. I can get you anything you want. Do you want some dry clothes? Will you tell me what happened."

“I’m fine,” Michael whispered modestly but the low rumble of his stomach gave him away. He winced a little, arching his painfully stiff back and hugging his arm to his body by the elbow. He hissed a little again, rolling his head around and focusing on the flickering of the open log fire. “You won’t want to know what happened,” he droned quietly, seeing each and every blow he suffered dance to life in the flames.

"Yes, I do," Sara murmured, turning his face so he was looking at her again. "I want to know everything, Michael. You can tell me." She pressed a hand to his shoulder. "Let's get you some clothes, and I'll fix you something to eat."

Michael gripped onto Sara hand as she tried to get up to fetch him some clothes and held it next to his head, stopping her in her tracks. “Sara…” he said slowly, inhaling hard and pulling her hand to the side of his face. He turned his lips and kissed her knuckles delicately. “I can eat later. Please, sit and listen to me.”

Sara moved back down next to him, brushing her thumb across his cheek. She moved closer to him, gently wrapping her arms around him and pressing a soft kiss to his chin. "Talk to me. . ."

Michael looked up at her for a second, taking in the pleading in her eyes and the need in her voice. Sara needed to know. She wanted to know. If only Michael wanted to tell her as badly as she wanted to know. Truth was, he didn’t know if he could tell her and still be the Michael Scofield she loved. Things had happened in there, things he never wanted to remember, and things a thousand times worse than Fox River. He stroked her face with his hand and swallowed hard. “I have spent too long running…” he began softly.

"Oh, Michael. . ." Sara pressed a kiss to his jaw. "You don't have to run anymore. We can get out of here, we can go back. No one's going to prosecute you. You can be free, we can be together. No more running."

Michael shook his head as Sara spoke and he licked his lips nervously. “I didn’t mean running from the world, Sara,” he breathed, lifting his gaze back to hers. He froze for a second like it had just dawned on him how beautiful Sara was. How beautiful she always had been. “I’m done running from us. From what we have,” he said quickly, smoothing his hand up and down her cheek faster. “I love you Sara, and I have been running from showing you for so long, to protect you. But now you’re free, and Lincoln is free…” he paused. “…And I just need to show you how much I love you before anything happens to us.”

"Before anything happens to us?" Sara pulled away a little bit and studied him closely. She shook her head and moved back to him, pressing her lips to his. "Michael, nothing is happening to us again. It's me and you now. Nothing's coming between us again."

“You don’t know that for sure…” Michael shook his head sadly, diving his hand into the softness of her hair and feeling the warmth from her head envelope his palm. “…and I can’t take the chance of you never knowing,” he gulped, lifting his eyes to meet hers and pulling her face to his for a passionately slow kiss.

Sara kissed him back softly and slowly, running her tongue along his bottom lip. She pulled away slowly, lingering on his bottom lip and sighing softly against his mouth. "Knowing what, Michael?"

“How much I love you. How much I want you. How much I have always wanted you…” he trailed off slowly, kissing her between his words. There was something desperate inside of his voice and he pulled the blanket off of his lap as they kissed, setting the heap of woven wool aside.

Sara cupped his face with one hand, kissing him long and slow. "Michael, if you love me or want me half as much as I do you, it's more than I could have ever dreamed." She glanced down his body, ghosting her fingers over his bruises. "But. . .we can't. . . you can't. . ."

Michael caught her hand in his and held it to his skin. “…I can’t do without you anymore…” he whispered.

"Michael. . ." Sara kissed him gently. "I love you, I do, and I can't even describe how badly I want you. But I don't want to hurt you."

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Michael let out a small laugh. “I have a high tolerance for pain, you know that…” he joked weakly, smoothing his hand down her cheek and tilting her face up to his by hooking his fingers under her chin. A small smile graced his lips and he shook his head. “I promise, you will never hurt me.”

Sara returned his small smile, feeling herself relax for the first time in as long as she could remember. She scooted even closer to him, brushing his lips in a soft, wet kiss. "You're going to be okay, Michael. I'm going to make it all better." She blinked back tears. "When Lincoln gets back, we'll go home. We'll go home and you and I will start a life together."

For the first time, Michael noticed the absence of his brother but he didn’t care. He pulled against Sara’s body, begging her to climb onto his lap while he kissed her and let his free hand explore the lightly ridged outline of her spine. “Let’s start one now.”

Sara moved forward, straddling his lap and pressing a kiss to his unhurt shoulder. She brushed her lips up and across his neck, sucking gently. She still felt the slight tug of apprehension. "Michael. . ."

“Just be gentle with me,” Michael smiled and let out a short laugh against her face before resuming his kissing again. His free hand skimmed over her shoulders and down the side of her torso, tickling at her ribs and tracing the outline of her thigh over and over. His hand skipped between their bodies and he began to unbutton her blouse with his fingers, quickly make short work of the offending garment even with one hand.

"I. . ." Sara trailed off and pressed a kiss to his neck, feeling tears feel her eyes. A single one skittered down her cheek and she pressed her forehead to his, taking a deep breath. "I can't believe you're here. You're here and you are real."

Michael stopped undressed her and cupped her face in his hand, smoothing his thumb across her cheeks and disrupting the flow of tears. “I’m here,” Michael confirmed with a nod, tilting his face and kissing her softly. “I’m really here.”

Sara smiled against his lips and darted her tongue quickly into his mouth. She pressed her fingers into his neck, holding him closer to her, then pulled away slightly. "I can't wait to make love to you."

“Oh, Sara…” Michael breathed, feeling his stomach begin to drop away from him. “I want you too, so badly I can’t stand it anymore,” he rasped, darting his tongue out to push into her mouth again. The thin cotton of Michael’s boxers did nothing to hide his arousal and he let his hand slide down the front of Sara’s body, over the fabric of her bra and the valley of her breasts, across her flat stomach and to the button on her pants. He fumbled with the button for a few seconds, making no progress with just his one hand and forgetting himself for a second, he hissed in agony when he moved his other arm to help. “Dammit,” he panted, turning his face away from her.

"I'll get it, I got it. . ." Sara placed her hand over his, and slowly undid her button before moving off of him and wiggling out of her jeans. "Are you sure you want to do this, Michael?"

“Sara, you’re not making love to my shoulder,” he winced a little as he manipulated the joint back into a more comfortable position and then held out his hand for her to come back to him. “I’m not waiting anymore. In case…”

Sara moved back to his lap, cutting him off with another kiss. "Michael, I need you to do something for me, okay?" She cupped his face in her hands and smiled softly. "I need you to believe we're going to make it."

Michael frowned at her for a second, pulling his eyebrows together and letting his mouth hang open in her hands. “Why wouldn’t I?” he spoke softly and there was a slightly worried tone to his voice. “Sara, I broke out of two prisons, fled my home country and then dragged my ass across the other and found the woman I love. I believe in us.”

"But I need you to believe we're going to make it out of this country," Sara murmured. "We'll make it home. We can have a home anywhere you want, as long as we're together. I want everything with you."

“I believe,” Michael said firmly, kissing her quickly. “As long as we’re together, we will be okay,” he choked, his voice raspy and desperate. He busily tucked some strand of her black tipped ruddy hair behind her ear and pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ll never leave you again. I promise.”

Sara smiled against his mouth, kissing him again and nodding slowly. "We'd better get rid of these boxers now."

Michael slid his hand into his boxers and freed himself, simply tucking his waistband under himself. He was too achy to move them complete off of himself and they had dried by the fire anyway. Michael watched Sara shed her panties, stroking his member the entire time and gasping as she re-straddled him. “Promise me…” Michael said quickly, letting his eyes roam over her cleavage as it peaked from her bra and heaved on each one of her breaths.

Sara reached behind herself, and undid her bra, quickly shedding it to the floor. She brushed her lips over his. "Promise you what?"

Michael gulped when her breasts fell into view, inches from his face and he shook his head quickly, averting his gaze to her eyes. He smiled timidly and licked his lips. “Promise me you’ll take into consideration I am injured here,” he grinned, pressing his hand to the small of her back and pulling her chest flat against his.

"Promise," Sara whispered with a nod. She placed a soft kiss to his neck. "This wasn't quite how I imagined it."

“What?” Michael quirked his brow at her with feigned pity. “You never fantasized about this?” he motioned to the abandoned shack, the moonlight spilling through the window and the open log fire. “Apart from the prison…the bruises and a dislocated shoulder…” he smiled up at her, kissing her softly before her whispered against her lips. “This is exactly how I imagined our first time.”

"When I got your message. . ." Sara kissed his cheek softly. "When I got your message I imagined us in the cabinet of that boat, gently rocking on the water." She slowly repositioned herself, and slid gently onto him. "You on top."

Michael clenched his jaw and lolled his head forward to rest against her chest, slowly letting out his breath when he was fully inside of her. “I’ll buy a boat,” Michael whispered quickly, sliding his hand down the side of her body to grip at her hip. “I’ll get a boat tomorrow.”

"I don't. . ." Sara laughed quietly, then groaned as she began to shift her hips against him. "I don't. . God, Michael. . . need a boat. I just need you."

“And I just want you,” Michael moaned, kissing the soft, milky smooth skin of her breasts, just above her hard nipple. His stubble brushed against the sensitive peak and he dipped his head lower, gently suckling on Sara’s breasts as she moved on top of him. Michael physically couldn’t move his hips. If it wasn’t through pain, Sara was paralyzing him with her slow, soft grinding. He had to release her nipple from his mouth to moan. “God…Sara…You’re so warm…” he panted against the wet flesh.

Sara moaned as he mouthed her nipple, her breath coming out in pants against him. She couldn't make her hips move any faster. She turned her head, sucking on his neck. "Oh, Michael. . . you're so. . . perfect."

Michael let his head fall backwards and Sara kissed neck more, holding his face in her hand and stroking her thumbs over his cheeks. “Oh…Sara…” he gasped, swallowing hard. Michael had abstained long enough. This had never felt so right, so perfect. “I can’t…” he whispered, cupping her face in his hand again and pressing his forehead to hers. “…I can’t hold on.”

"Then don't. . ." Sara whimpered against his mouth, squeezing her eyes shut. She ground her hips into his a little harder, hitting just the right spot. Her orgasm hit her, and she tossed her head back. "Ohhhh, Michael."

Michael couldn't even speak as he came, and he couldn’t explain the sudden wave of pain relief that coursed through his veins. Nothing hurt at all, and for a split second Michael felt genuine happiness. He splayed his hand out over Sara’s back and managed to pull her to him, crushing his lips to hers and thrusting up into her spasming core weakly a few times. When his shoulder began to shoot with pain, he knew it was all over and he pulled away from Sara, wincing a little through his ragged breathing.

"Are you okay?" Sara murmured against his skin. She tried to control her breathing. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you, baby?"

Michael shook his head and pulled her face to his for another long, slow kiss. “No…you were so perfect.”

Sara blushed a little and ducked her head, pressing her forehead to his cheek. "You weren't so bad yourself, Scofield. Can I make you dinner now?"

Michael smiled and fell backwards against the hard wood flooring, taking Sara with him and landing awkwardly. He winched a little but shuffled into a more comfortable position with Sara spread out onto his chest. “Let’s just lie here for a while.”

Sara moved herself off of him, cradling her head to a part of his chest that seemed bruise free and grabbing the blanket and draping it over them. She kissed him softly. "We could go to the bed, you know."

“We could,” he breathed, kissing the top of her head and stroking his hand up and down the bare skin of her arm. “But let’s just lie here,” he repeated, closing his eyes against the flickering flames and sighing contently. “Unless, you can carry me?” Michael teased, keeping his eyes closed but finding himself smiling.

Sara smiled and ghosted her fingers over his stomach. She turned her head to look at him, feeling something inside her chest squeeze. She was never going to let anything happen to him again. "Michael. . ."

“Hmm?” he made the noise deep in his throat and peeled his eyes open, turning his head to look down at her.

She traced a finger down his cheek, and smiled up at him, wondering how long it would be before she couldn't look at him with some sense of wonderment. "We didn't. . . use anything."

Michael blinked and stared at her for a second. “Um…I didn’t exactly have…I thought you..?” he stuttered before closing his eyes and sighing. “Oh crap. What if…?”

"I just. . ." Sara paused, pressing a hand to his chest, trying to get him to calm down. "I just got so caught up in wanting to be with you, I didn't even think."

“Me either,” Michael admitted sadly, looking absently out of the window at the moon glistening in the sky. A silence fell over them and Michael inhaled sharply, exhaling slowly and shrugging his good shoulder. “So what. If anything comes of this, we’ll be okay. I promise we’ll make it work.”

"Michael, it was just one time without a condom," Sara leaned up and pressed her lips to his. "I'm sure everything will be fine."


	2. Chapter 2

Faster then anyone could have anticipated, Lincoln had returned to the shack in Panama with great news. In less than twenty-four hours, it would be announced on worldwide-televised airtime, that Michael Scofield was a free man. Exonerated of all charges and crimes relating to the escape because of the unfair ruling of Death by Electric Chair of his brother, Lincoln Burrows, Michael would be able to walk back onto American soil a respected citizen of the united states again.

“Wow…” he breathed, falling down onto the edge of the couch, amazed by what Lincoln had just told him and Sara. “…I mean…wow.”

"That's. . ." Sara swallowed hard and glanced between the two men. "That's great. I think. . ." She fluttered her eyes closed and coughed, pressing her hand to her mouth. "Be right back." She hurried down the hall to the bathroom, and shut the door behind her.

Lincoln stared down the hall after her before turning his gaze back to Michael. He raised an eyebrows and pointed down the hall silently.

“She ate something…” Michael mumbled, waving his hand in the air. “…Free? Like, totally…free?” Michael couldn’t believe the word as he said it. Being free meant so much for him, for Sara. It meant they could go back to America, set up home and start their new life together. They could start their new life properly.

Sara kneeled over the toilet, and got sick for the eighth morning in a row. Flushing and making a face, she moved back to the sink, splashing cold water on her face. She had been trying her best not to let reality set in, but now that he was free. . . Sighing, she reached under the counter, taking out the pregnancy test she had bought.

“Free, Michael,” Lincoln nodded, stepping towards his brother and slapping him hard across the back. “Free.”

Michael stared dumbly at a patch that had stained the floor from when he had found the tiny shack a few months ago. Everything he had done, everything he had seen; it was not in vain. It was not without sacrifice but now it all meant so much more then it had done. “Free,” Michael whispered, closing his hand over his mouth.

“Yes, Michael, Free,” Lincoln repeated with a laugh. “I know how it feels, buddy.” Lincoln looked over his shoulder at the empty hall and frowned. “Michael, is Sara okay? She’s been gone a while.”

Michael sighed and looked over to his brother, following his gaze down the hall with a frown. “I’ll go see,” he said softly, pushing himself to his feet and walking down the rickety and creaking hall towards the tiny, single bathroom they all had to share. Michael lifted his hand and tapped gently on the door. “Sara? Are you okay?”

Sara stared down at the box in her hands and took a deep breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, and jumped a little when she heard Michael's voice. Taking another deep breath and opening the door. A tear skittered down her cheek, "I think I'm pregnant."

Michael shot a glance down the hall at his brother who was idly looking up at the ceiling and puffing his cheeks out with boredom. Lincoln itched to get back to America as much as any of them did. He was just a bit more up front about it. Michael pushed into Sara’s body, stepping her back into the bathroom barely big enough for one and closing the door behind them. “You think?”

Sara sniffled and wiped her tear away, glancing to the box she'd left on the counter. "I, uh. . .I'm late. Really, really late, Michael. And I've been getting sick for a week." She glanced up at him. "I'm sorry."

“I thought you’d eaten something…” Michael admitted dumbly, leaning back against the bathroom door and keeping his voice hushed. The whole shack was lacking some serious sound proofing, and Lincoln could probably hear them breathing. “…And don’t be sorry, Sara,” Michael soothed, stepping towards her and taking her face in his hands. “I promised you we would be okay.”

"I need to uh. . ." Sara picked up the test and waved it around. She took a deep breath and nodded. "I should probably take this, I guess."

“Yeah,” Michael nodded with her, leaning on his hands that were pressed to the door. Neither of them moved for a while and then Michael practically slapped his forehead. “Right…sorry,” he said, spinning quickly and exiting the bathroom. Lincoln heard the door close and looked up to see Michael staring at the wall opposite the wall.

“She okay, man?” he called down the hall, crooking his neck over the back of the shabby couch at Michael. Michael nodded and waiting outside, leaving his hand resting on the door handle.

Sara peed on the stick then set it back on the box, staring down at it. Five minutes. She flushed the toilet, then reopened the door, looking back up at Michael. "You can come in now."

Michael nodded and walked back into the room, closing the door quietly behind him and clearing his throat softly. He kept his gaze trained on his feet. “And?”

"And it's not done yet," Sara smiled softly at him, and took a step towards him. She squeezed his arm. "Are you okay?"

Michael lifted his head half way and gave her a lop sided grin. “Excited?” he said softly. “I don’t know. I’ve never been here before to feel this way.”

Sara stepped forward, leaning her head on his chest. She wrapped her arms around his waist. "Michael, you're free."

“And possibly a father,” he smiled, wrapping his arms around her. “All in the same hour!”

"We can go back to America," Sara leaned up, pressing a kiss to his mouth. "And we could buy a house, and just relax, and we could get --" She stopped herself from saying get married.

“…Married?” Michael whispered down at her, flicking his eyes between her mouth and her eyes. He didn’t have a smile and he looked slightly panicked but his heart was feeling exactly the same as Sara’s. Finally, he broke out into a small smile. “Sara Tancredi. Is that a proposal?”

Sara blushed and glanced down, leaning her head onto his chest again. After a moment, she looked up and brushed her lips against his neck. "What if it was?"

Michael’s lips twitched in another smile ad he looked up to the dirty brown, water stained ceiling in thought. “I wouldn’t say no,” he said confidently, smoothing his hands down her arms and taking her hands in his.

Sara leaned up, meeting his lips in a long, slow kiss. He had, for so long, been the aggressor in their relationship. Kissing her first, asking her to wait, even starting their first sexual experience. Kissing him again quickly, she whispered, "So marry me then, Scofield."

“What? No down on one knee?” Michael smirked, winking at her playfully. “Not that I’d make a pregnant woman get down on one knee…” he shrugged, pointing over her shoulder to the tiny blue cross in the display box of the test. “…Congratulations,” he breathed, looking back down to her. “…You have a future husband and a child.”

Sara took in a breath, glancing over her shoulder at the pregnancy test. She bit her bottom lip and her eyes filled with tears. She held onto his arm, feeling slightly dizzy. "Michael. Michael, we're going. . ."

Michel supported her weight, watching the colour drain from her face. “Are you okay?” he smiled, leaning closer to her. “Parents. We are going to be parents,” he beamed proudly.

Sara smiled and pressed her hand to the back of his neck, drawing him down to her. She brushed her lips across his. "We made a baby."

Michael nodded and kissed her again, wrapping his arms around her and holding her to him tightly. It seemed fitting, in a strange way, that the first time they had ever been truly happy together had resulted in the beautiful life that was now growing inside of Sara. Michael broke the kiss and dropped to his knees with a grin, lowly lifting Sara’s top and pressing his lips to her still flat belly. “Hey baby…” he cooed softly, brushing his fingers over her belly button. “…I’m your daddy.”

Sara brushed her hand over his closely shaved head and smiled at him. "You think she or he can understand what you're saying." She leaned over, pressing a kiss to his head. "Looks like you're the one down on one knee."

“Well…” Michael said with a smirk, shifting his position so that he was. “Sara Tancredi…” he began, taking her hand in his and looking up at her with a smile. “…Will you marry me?”

"What?" Sara teased, rubbing the tips of her fingers over his head. "No diamond ring?" She smiled softly and leaned down, kissing him. "Yes."

Michael kept his lips on hers as he pushed himself to his feet, wrapping his arms around her body and lifting her from the floor with a playful growl. He smiled against her mouth, gently parting his lips and searching for her tongue with his own. “No diamond ring…” he rolled his eyes at her joke, smirking against her mouth that was barely parted from hers.

Sara opened her mouth and brushed her tongue gently across his, inviting his own into her mouth. After a moment, she pulled away just slightly, running her fingers over the sensitive skin of his neck. "You know, if you wanted to make sure I didn't leave you, you could have given me something simple like a promise ring, or a necklace, or even a Panama tourist t-shirt. You didn't have to spring for a baby."

Michael smiled down at her and let his hands trace circles over the base of her spine. “And ruin the cliché?” Michael smirked. “Never. And besides, you’ll have to treasure this forever because I didn’t get a receipt.”

Sara met his lips again, then pulled away, her expression growing serious. He had been through a lot in the last month, he'd been through a lot in the last hour. She brought her hand to his cheek. "Are you okay with this?"

“Yeah…” Michael frowned and looked at her a little confused. “I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t scared. If I wasn’t still apprehensive about this freedom thing…” he lost his smile and his face grew serious, looking down between them to where Sara’s belly was pressed against his. “…But I know I love you. And our baby. And I am done with lying. So yeah, I’m okay with this,” he smiled.

Sara brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and smiled up at him, almost shyly. "Are you wanting to go back soon? I need to go to the doctor, and honestly, I'd rather not do it down here." She intertwined their fingers. "Are you going to tell Lincoln?"

Michael screwed his face up and shrugged. “I thought I might let him figure it out. He’d take the whole nine months,” he laughed out loud at himself for the first time in a long time and the walls of the shack shook a little. He looked around him tentatively, eyeing the walls that looked like they would fold in on them at any second with a careful glance. “And I want to go back like now. I want to go home.”

"I want to go back too. . ." Sara leaned and brushed her lips against his. She smiled softly. "Where are we going to go?"

“Wherever you want to, baby,” Michael chimed, kissing her softly again. “I’d follow you anywhere.”

"I don't care," Sara murmured, brushing her lips against his. "Anywhere you want is fine with me. Just as long as we're together?"

“We’ll always be together…” Michael said softly, pulling her to him for another crushing hug. “Now lets go and tell Lincoln.”

Sara linked her arm around his waist, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Alright. You tell him, okay?"

Michael nodded and pressed his lips to her forehead one more time before he turned the door handle to the bathroom and let them fall out into the hall. Michael looked down the hall and Lincoln sat with an expectant expression, quickly standing to greet them as they made their way back into the empty lounge. “We’re fine,” Michael smiled, anticipating Lincoln’s question.

Lincoln smirked, glancing back and forth between the two of them. He crossed his arms in front of his chests and tilted his head, "If you wanted to have sex, you didn't have to hide in the bathroom. I would have left."

“We didn’t have sex,” Michael shook his head and looked at Sara with a lop sided smile. “Well…that’s not entirely true,” he shrugged, looking at his brother’s confused face. “Sara’s pregnant,” he announced with a grin.

"Sara's. . ." Lincoln crossed his arms and glanced towards Sara. He looked back to Michael and laughed. "Very funny."

“I’m not joking,” Michael said calmly, smile at Sara again. “And we’re engaged,” Michael beamed even harder, his smile stretching right across his face as he kept his eyes trained on Sara.

Lincoln crossed his arms and took a step towards Michael, dropping his voice. "You are out of your mind."

Michael nodded and shrugged. “Probably,” he said off handedly. “But I love her, Linc,” he whispered to his brother, keeping out of earshot of Sara. “And I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

Lincoln grabbed him by the arm. "Did it occur to you that you're already married, Michael?"

Michael shook himself from his brother’s grasp and frowned at him. “Divorce, Lincoln. On the grounds she tried to kill me. Or, if you’d prefer, I’ll tell the world I only married her to help you escape. Is that what you want?” Michael droned low, his words barely audible. “Why the sudden conscience?”

"I'm just saying, Michael. . ." Lincoln took a deep breath, and shook his head, moving Michael farther away from Sara. "You're not ready to have a kid."

“What?” Michael spat, looking at his brother with utter confusion. “Why not?” he demanded, moving from Lincoln’s hold again and raising his voice. “What? Because you made a mistake you think I am?” he frowned. “I’m not you Lincoln. I never will be.”

Lincoln crossed his arms and took a step back. "I may have made mistakes with my son, Michael, but don't you ever, ever call him a mistake. Understand me?"

“Well he was, wasn’t he?” Michael yelled, waving his arms angrily at Lincoln. “You didn’t plan to have a baby at eighteen, Linc! You were not ready to be a father, but I am,” Michael took a step back and pointed to Sara. “We are having a baby whether you like it or not.”

"Michael," Lincoln hissed. "I'm just trying to tell you that you need to wise up here. Come on. You've ruined her life enough already, don't you think?"

Michael let out a chilling laugh at his brother’s words and bit his tongue, turning away from him and running a hand over his head. His eyes fell on Sara standing motionless at the edge of he couch and he caught her gaze. “Wise up?” Michael murmured, not taking his eyes off Sara. Repeating his brother’s words out loud sparked something inside of him and he spun on his heels and charged Lincoln to the floor of the shack with a grunt. “Wise up!” he repeated with gritted teeth.

Lincoln grabbed onto Michael's arms and hoisted him off the floor. He shoved him back against the wall, pressing his hands to Michael's wrists. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Michael let out a cry of pain when his shoulder slammed into the wall and he looked away from Lincoln with closed eyes. Lincoln’s breath was hot on his face and Michael shoved his hands hard against his chest, balling his shirt in his fists. “You! After everything…after all I did for you…all I lost for you…” he panted, his voice dark and almost a growl. “You don’t want me to be happy because then I wouldn’t need you anymore, and that scares you.”

"Of course I want you to be happy!" Lincoln snapped, shoving Michael back harder. "But you're finally free, man. You can get it all back now. And you're going to throw it all away to have some baby with an ex-junkie?"

Michael didn’t hear Sara scream, and he didn’t hear the crunching of bones under the skin of his knuckles as they broke. He pulled his arm back as far as it would go, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder and smashed his clenched fist into Lincoln’s nose, sending his sailing to the floor in a bloody mess. His heart pounded in his chest and he clutched at his broken hand, wincing with pain but satisfied. “Don’t you ever…” he spat gruffly. “…Ever!” he screamed, stepping towards Lincoln and hunching his body over closer to his face. “…dig up the past. Or I could do some digging, Lincoln, I swear to God.”

Lincoln stood up, pressing the back of his hand to his face. He breathed deeply for a moment, staring at Michael before shaking his head now. "You think you can do it? You think you're capable of loving anyone? We'll see, Michael." Without waiting for a response, he moved out of the shack, shutting the door behind him.

When Lincoln was gone, Michael relaxed a little and as the adrenaline began to slow its surge around his body, he slumped sideways and gripped his shoulder with his hand. His eyes pinched closed and he hissed with the pain. “I think it’s dislocated again,” Michael said to Sara sadly, holding onto the dangling appendage like it might fall off. “And I think I broke my hand,” he laughed to himself.

"Michael. . ." Sara trailed off and stepped towards him. She looked at his arm and sighed, moving closer to him. "I'm going to have to pop it back in. You want me to get you a drink?"

Michael brushed past her into the kitchen area of the shack and yanked the cupboards open, looking for anything strong enough to numb the pain. Finally, he set his eyes on a bottle of whiskey that was sitting in a cupboard by itself and he figured it was Lincoln’s. Michael pulled it from the cupboard, biting the cork between his teeth and pulling it out. He spat it across the kitchen, gulping down as much of the burning liquid as he could before he needed breath again. “Do it,” he stammered, slamming the bottle back onto the sideboard.

Sara watched in silence as he drank the liquor. Taking a deep breath, she murmured and apology and grabbed his arm, pulling up, pushing and twisting. She winced, waiting for his reaction.

Michael’s legs gave way and he crumbled to the floor in pain, sliding down the cupboard and landing in a heavy panting heap on the floor. He closed his eyes again and let his head fall back into the wooden surface, slowing his breathing slowly and gently moving his arm a little. “Thank you,” he breathed.

Sara kneeled on the floor next to him, pressing her face into his neck. She ran her hand slowly over his back, not quite sure what to say. She kissed him softly. "Baby. . ."

“I’d be a good father, right?” he blurted out, turning to her with a worried expression. “I’m capable of loving, right?”

Sara took Michael's face in her hands, staring at him seriously. "Michael, how can you even ask that? Look at everything you've done for Linc. That is the most selfless display of love I have ever, ever seen." She pressed her hand on his chest, over his heart. "You're a nurturer, Michael. You care so deeply." She leaned in, resting her forehead against his. "I can not wait to have this baby with you, and see you hold it, and love it."

Michael lifted his hand and brushed his knuckles over Sara’s cheek before turning his hand and pressing his palm to her face. “So why doesn’t Lincoln believe in me?” he whispered sadly.

"Do you think that maybe. . ." Sara dropped her gaze to the ground and shrugged a little before looking back up at him. "Maybe Lincoln's a little jealous?"

Michael let out a breathy laugh. “Of me?” he smiled and shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. That’s…that’s insane…” Michael said, frowning to himself. “Unless…” he looked back up to her and lost his smile as he struggled to push himself to his feet and stumbled forward towards the door. He pulled it open and stepped out onto the sandy beach, scanning the white sand for his brother until he saw him standing, staring out into the ocean. “When?” Michael called, walking towards his brother. “How long have you been in love with Sara?” he demanded.

Lincoln glanced sharply towards Michael, surprised to see him there. He rolled his eyes and looked back to the ocean. "You are seriously damaged. More so than I could have ever imagined."

Michael sighed with a growl and waved his hand at his brother before stalking back to the shack. He stepped back into the shack and looked at Sara with a confused scowl. “What happened while I was in Sona?”

"We sat around, didn't even really talk," Sara shrugged, moving into the kitchen to start cleaning things up. "He was pretty distant. I could tell he blamed himself."

“For what happened?” Michael asked shocked, looking out of the window at his brother. “But it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anyone’s. It was my choice, not his.”

Sara took a deep breath, and looked to Michael. "I think the problem, Michael, might be that he blames. . . me. I got you thrown in Sona."

“No,” Michael said firmly, walking into the kitchen and grabbing her hand to stop her from cleaning. “It wasn’t your fault either, Sara. Please don’t think that, okay?” he whispered, lifting his hand and stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. Michael smiled down at her lovingly and leant forward to press his lips softly to her brow.

"Michael, if I hadn't. . ." She sighed deeply and shook her head, brushing her thumb over his cheek. "Whatever is going on with you and Lincoln right now is my fault."

“I won’t believe that,” Michael said defiantly. “I can’t believe that. There has to be another reason.”

"Michael. . ." Sara returned to cleaning slow circles on the counter. She took a deep breath. "If you don't . . . if this baby isn't something you want. . ."

“Of course it’s what I want,” Michael squeaked, shocked. “Is it what you want?” he asked timidly. “I’m not going to give up something I’ve waited so long for, and sacrificed so much for, just because Lincoln has a problem,” he said, pointing out to the beach. “He can accept you as family or…” he trailed off. Thinking about disowning his brother was easier than saying it.

"Of course I want it. . ." Sara said softly. She took his hand in hers and placed it over her stomach. "We'll find a way to make this work, Michael."

Michael nodded and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her to his chest slowly and letting out long held breathe into her hair. He felt his body relax, even through the shooting pains in his shoulder and hand and just held her. “We’ll make it work, I promise.”

Lincoln walked back into the house, a plastic bag in his hand. He dropped it the counter next to Sara and muttered. "He should at least have some memento from where he was conceived." Without waiting for Sara's response, he walked to the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

Sara glanced to Michael, then looked inside the bag, taking out a soft blue baby blanket. The word 'Panama' had been stitched on in silky white letters.

“He?” Michael looked at her confused.

Sara kept her gaze focused on the blanket. "I guess your brother assumes you only make boys."

Michael lifted his gaze and looked towards the bathroom with a sigh. Michael lifted his hand to Sara’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze as he walked past her towards the bathroom. Michael turned to face her as he tapped on the door gently. “Linc?” There was no answer and he tapped again. “I have quicker sperm than you. That blanket should be pink,” he smiled weakly.

Lincoln leaned against the bathroom sink, squeezing his eyes shut. "It's the 21st century, man. Girls can wear blue."

Michael looked to Sara one last time and pushed open the bathroom door, closing it quickly behind him and leaning against it. “Tell me what’s wrong,” Michael demanded softly, staring at his brother’s wide set shoulders. “Sara thinks you blame her for what happened.”

"I just. . ." Lincoln broke off and hopped up on the sink counter with a shrug. "Nothing. I'm over it now. It's no big deal."

“Okay then,” Michael nodded slowly, understanding that his brother didn’t want to talk about it. Lincoln rarely did. “Are you okay?” Michael whispered, concerned. “Sorry I punched you,” he winced, looking over Lincoln’s shoulder to his reflection in the dirty glass mirror.

"No problem," Lincoln rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "Not the first time." He glanced away and sighed. "Sometimes it just seems like you get everything."

“And you get nothing?” Michael frowned. “Lincoln, you got your freedom. You got LJ and me and we’re not burying your body right now.” He looked away and sighed. “I know you’ve lost so much, Lincoln. I can’t apologise enough, you know that. But I just want you to be happy for me. For us.”

Lincoln nodded slowly. "I am. I really am, buddy. You deserve to be happy and Sara is. . ." He hesitated and shrugged. "Sara's so good for you."

Michael arched his brow and shifted his weight against the door. “You don’t sound convinced,” he laughed softly.

"No, I am. . ." Lincoln nodded. "She loves you, Michael. She really, really loves you. Don't fuck it up."

Michael flashed Lincoln a small smile and nodded at his brother’s reflection in the mirror. He turned and exited the bathroom, closing the door behind him slowly and walking back down the hall towards Sara. “So…” he said, wincing a little when he forgot himself for a second and clapped his hands together. He shot a look at his bruised knuckles and shook his hand loosely in the air in front of him. “…Where do you want to live?”

Sara shrugged and took his hand in hers, brushing her lips gently across the knuckles. She arched an eyebrow. "Somewhere where the crime rate is low."

Michael let out a small laugh and pressed his lips to hers, letting them linger for a time before her pulled them away and hugged her to his chest. “Let’s go home.”


End file.
